


Wordless

by aldiara



Category: Alles was zaehlt
Genre: Alles was zählt - Freeform, Angst, Character Study, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-01
Updated: 2010-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deniz fails at verbal communication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wordless

_Have you talked to him about it?_

The question in his head wears Vanessa’s voice, tinged slightly with impatience, but the speaker is a variable; it’s the question everyone always asks, and Deniz is weary of it beyond description. Everyone always seems to assume talking will fix things.

Deniz isn’t good at talking. Never has been. Sooner or later something comes out wrong, sounding offensive or fake or just stupid, and more often than not he ends up having to back-pedal, apologise, make amends. Roman… Roman can talk for hours on end, he usually says exactly the right things, and sooner or later all Deniz wants to do is shut him up, tired of always being the kid in this relationship, the one who isn’t up to handling things maturely.

This, though? This he can do. With every shove of flesh against slick flesh, he speaks; with every tug at Roman’s sweat-damp hair and every thrust of his tongue into that sinful mouth, he whispers things his mind could never phrase. His fingers scratch messages into Roman’s skin like Braille, invisible and indelible. His tongue and teeth etch words into the most sensitive parts of his lover’s body, by turn sweet and harsh, demanding recognition, understanding, until Roman cries out and his body arches pleadingly, _Yes, I can hear you._

It comes to him so naturally that it floors him, this communication of skin and bone and muscle. There’s no awkward scrambling for words, no blockage in his throat, no discrepancy between what he needs to say and how it comes out. Sometimes it’s like fighting, a frantic struggle for dominance, so intense that it hurts; sometimes it’s silly and abundant with laughter, and sometimes it’s sweet and strangely cautious, as if to move too fast could break them both; but it’s always, always honest. Because with someone else’s breath in his mouth, he doesn’t know how to lie.

 _You can’t just fuck him every time you’re trying to avoid talking to him_. He doesn’t know whose voice that is, and it angers him, because it isn’t true. It isn’t avoidance. It isn’t an escape so much as a desperate attempt to move the conversation to a level where he’s not so hopelessly inadequate; a level where he doesn’t get tangled up in the sly twists of words.

It’s only with his body that he can say the things he truly means.


End file.
